Nothing
by Initial A
Summary: Emma feels nothing. (Missing scene. Immediately follows the end of 4x18)


Emma swayed on her feet. Using her magic had drained what strength she had left, leaving her dizzy and exhausted.

But Henry was safe.

Regina and Killian came crashing through the woods not minutes after her parents, and Emma only let go of Henry because Regina wanted to hold him and be sure he was okay. When Regina looked up at her, silently asking for an explanation, Emma swallowed past the hard lump that had formed in her throat at some point in the last ten minutes. She couldn't talk about it - didn't _want_ to talk about it.

Henry could explain.

Emma felt her parents' watchful, worried eyes on her but couldn't bring herself to care. She cleared her throat. "Let's go home," she said, her voice sounding hollow even to her own ears.

She_ felt_ hollow.

Regina led the way out, her arm wrapped tightly around Henry's shoulders. Mary Margaret and David went next. Emma stumbled over a stone; a strong hand caught her before she faceplanted into the dirt. "Easy, Swan, I've got you," Killian said quietly.

"Thanks," she mumbled, keeping her eyes on the ground. His hand slipped down her arm and grasped hers tightly, his thumb drawing small circles against hers.

He held her hand while they followed her family through the woods. She felt torn between wanting to pull away and wanting him to hold her closer - she felt _empty_. Like some kind of void had replaced her heart. Like every emotion she'd ever felt had gone over that cliff with Cruella. She'd just _killed_ a woman, wasn't she supposed to_ feel _something?

When they reached Regina's car, Emma got in the back without saying a word. She ignored the looks her parents gave her as Killian slid in next to her, taking her hand again. She closed her eyes to block out the sight of him watching her with worry etched all over his face, his eyes full of sadness.

Regina got the story out of Henry as she drove back into town. Killian's grip on Emma's hand tightened when Henry told them about Emma blasting Cruella off the cliff.

Emma's stomach rolled, remembering the woman's broken, twisted body at the bottom of the cliff, but still she felt nothing.

Outside the loft, Killian didn't let Emma follow Regina and Henry inside. "Emma, when's the last time you rested?" he asked. She tried to push past him, she needed to get to her son, but his arms were strong and she was so tired. "Emma. Talk to me. Please."

She lifted her gaze to his and felt _nothing _at the way his brows knit in concern, the worry in his eyes, the nervous way he ran his tongue along his lower lip. The nothing should have scared her but right now she couldn't even feel fear. "I killed her," Emma whispered.

"I know."

"I killed her and I don't - I can't -"

Something in his expression broke just before he folded his arms around her. His lips brushed against her temple. "You can't feel anything," he whispered, like he _knew_, like he _understood_. "You want to feel sadness or anger or relief, but you feel nothing."

"Yeah." Emma's voice cracked as she realized he _did_ know. He_ did_ understand.

_Darkness is a funny thing. It creeps up on you._

"When did you last rest Emma?" Killian murmured into her hair.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept in an actual bed and not at her desk or in a chair or on - "When did Maleficent cast that sleeping spell?" she asked.

Killian sagged a little. "Nearly two days gone, Emma you can't _do_ this to yourself," he scolded.

The number of times he'd used her given name in the last ten minutes was what made her nod. She could count on two hands - with plenty of fingers left over - the times he'd used it before. He started to lead her to the loft but something in her rebelled. "No," she said firmly. "I can't - They'll be here soon. And I can't rest when they -"

He always knew what she needed. He kept his arm around her as he led her through town towards the docks. Blearily, she looked around, wondering why they were here instead of Granny's - then she saw it. "She's here?" Emma asked, her gaze sweeping up the rigging and across the brightly painted hull of _The_ _Jolly Roger_.

Killian's arm tightened around her. "Aye. Ursula returned her to me," he said, unable to keep the joy from his voice.

For the first time in what felt like hours, Emma felt an emotion: guilt. Ursula had left almost a week ago. _The Jolly Roger_ had been in Storybrooke a week, and Emma hadn't thought to ask where Killian had been disappearing to. She'd been on these very docks and not seen her. The very ship he'd given up for her to be able to return - his _home_ \- and she hadn't known.

Self-loathing slowly replaced the guilt.

He led her up the gangplank. Deja vu flashed through Emma's mind, though before she'd climbed down this ladder with a different Killian on her heels, as they entered the captain's quarters. She hugged herself tightly, looking around the room at his neatly ordered books and hoarded treasures, the narrow bunk with bright pillows and ornate blankets, the carved golden mermaids and brass lanterns swaying slightly from the rafters on the tide. Killian dug in a cupboard, bringing out more blankets and draping them around her shoulders. "Sit," he instructed, gesturing to the bunk.

She could only blame her exhaustion when she obeyed without question. Killian worked her boots off, setting them gently under the table. He unmade the bed until the blankets hit where she sat, and rearranging the pillows for her. "Lie back."

She did, and he - for lack of a better description - tucked her in, bundling her under what had to be at least five blankets. "Better?" Killian asked, perching on the edge of the bunk.

Emma nodded, unearthing her arm to grasp his hand. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "For not -"

He shook his head, cutting her off. "You've nothing to be sorry for. Rest, love. I'll be here."

"Stay with me?"

The question came out before she could stop it. Fear bubbled under her breastbone and she was overcome with the knowledge that any dreams she might have would be filled with the image of Cruella flying off the cliff, or the unnatural splay of limbs on a slab of rock, or a slow-growing pool of reddish-black blood. He gripped her hand tighter. "I've something to do, but I'll be here when you wake," he promised.

She tried to fight the weariness that dragged at her bones, waiting until he returned, but her strength was sapped.

When she woke again from her dreamless sleep, he was there, curled around her and holding her tight, his warm breath puffing against the back of her neck. Emma shifted further into his embrace, feeling overwhelmed. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as everything hit her at once; she took a few deep breaths to force them away - crying fixed nothing and would only wake Killian. She couldn't _talk_ about it and he'd want to.

He shifted in his sleep, mumbling something that sounded like her name, and his arm tightened around her. The guilt and heartbreak and sadness that drowned her eased a little. Emma turned, tucking herself under his chin, her nose brushing the hair that peeked out from the unbuttoned V in his shirt. He stirred. She held him tight. "Go back to sleep," she whispered.

She hooked one of her legs around his, bringing him as close to her as she could. As his breathing evened out again, Emma prayed to whatever was listening that he was enough, that he could protect her from her nightmares, that he could be everything she needed when the rest of her life was going to hell. Her hand fisted in his shirt, breathing him in and letting his comforting scent chase away the unease in her mind. "Swan, I can hear you thinking," Killian rumbled above her.

"Go to sleep."

"You need it more than I, love," he said, kissing the top of her head. His hand rubbed soothing circles on her back. "Rest. I'll keep you safe."


End file.
